


sleepless

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: 5 Times, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Book 1: Lady Midnight, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Book 2: Lord of Shadows, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-11-04 21:32:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10999416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Ty likes butterflies. He likes the way their wings move, fluttering constantly, always in motion. They remind him of his own hands, as he trails them through the air by the window, fascinated by the shapes his fingers make, the slight blur of them, the way they curve and flap and bend. There are butterflies just past the pane of glass, barely visible in the late evening light, flitting from flower to flower, leaf to leaf. He watches them, and then he watches his fingers, and then he watches them again.(Or: Five times Kit and Ty sit outside each others bedrooms.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Trying something new out in a semi-new fandom, just some fluff and fun really, a bit of angst here and there. I will tag as I go but there should be no warnings, and I'll tag for spoilers later on. Hopefully you enjoy it, please let me know what you think, I'd love to hear from you. Thank you!

Ty likes butterflies. He likes the way their wings move, fluttering constantly, always in motion. They remind him of his own hands, as he trails them through the air by the window, fascinated by the shapes his fingers make, the slight blur of them, the way they curve and flap and bend. There are butterflies just past the pane of glass, barely visible in the late evening light, flitting from flower to flower, leaf to leaf. He watches them, and then he watches his fingers, and then he watches them again.

He has a book in his lap, closed – because if it was open, he would be unable to leave it alone, and he doesn’t quite feel like disappearing yet – and his headphones dangling around his neck, the tinny tones of soft music just barely audible through the plastic. He can hear voices just down the hall – too loud, always too loud, even from far away – but for the moment he just watches his hands, traces indiscernible patterns in the air.

He’s glad, he thinks, that Kit chose a bedroom that was right next to a window. Logically, he knows that Kit probably threw himself into the first bedroom he came across, rather than scouting for the perfect location, but it still makes him glad. He can watch the sky get darker from here, watch as the light fades, sapped from the land by the oncoming night, and he can watch the birds and bees disappear, the grass fade from green to black as shadows drench the lawn. It’s so much to take in, and nature has always fascinated him, always managed to capture his attention. He thinks about how many bugs are out there right now, crawling along the earth and up the blades of grass and buzzing through the thick, soupy air. He thinks about the frogs in the pond around the back of the house, and the little fish that dart in the water, and he thinks about all of the hedgehogs and sparrows and mice that are undoubtedly making their nightly rounds. It’s a wonderful thing, that the world never sleeps. There’s never a single moment of silence across the entire earth, because somewhere else, something is making a noise.

Right now, the only noise Ty can hear is the quiet sobbing of a boy behind the door he’s leaning against. It makes him drop his hand, makes him feel an overwhelming amount of discomfort.

Carefully, Ty picks up the book in his lap and flips to the first page.

Something shatters into a million pieces behind the door, followed by a hoarse cry. Ty flinches, but doesn’t move to open the door. He believed Kit, when the other boy had said he would kill whoever tried to break down the door. He had a look about him, this wild, lost look that Ty recognised. He isn’t excellent with expressions but he had seen that look before, pasted across his own face in the days after the Dark War.

A look of loss and pain.

Another crash, and Ty adjusts his grip on his book. He’s read the book before; he’s read all of the books concerning Sherlock Holmes, even the more modern adaptations, although he doesn’t like those as much as the Arthur Conan Doyle books – yet it still holds the same level of interest for him. He can get lost in these books, easily. Sometimes, something will eat up his attention so much that Ty will barely notice the hours flicking past, that he won’t register the pangs of hunger or the itch of sleep. Other times, he’s left feeling restless and itchy with the desire to _do_ something, to focus his mind, to give it a goal in mind rather than letting it race aimlessly in all directions.

Luckily, today isn’t one of those days. Today, Ty is perfectly happy to lean against the locked door and read and read and read.

And then the door crashes open, and Ty falls backwards with a soft ‘oomph’. He lands on his back on the thick cream carpet and finds himself staring up at the angry, dishevelled blonde boy. He looks away quickly and clambers up gracefully, gripping his book.

“What are you doing?” Kit snaps.

Ty frowns – it’s pretty obvious what he was doing. He looks down at his book, and then holds it up slightly, as though Kit might not have seen it. “Reading. It’s a detective book.”

He doesn’t need to look at Kit to see the way he stares, taken aback. He risks a glance anyway, taking note of the glittering tear tracks and dirty hair, a mouth pulled down at the corners, and then quickly looks away.

“Why are you reading it _here_? I told you, I’m not a Shadowhunter and I don’t want to be here.”

Ty frowns and looks up. There are those eyes again, the blue, familiar eyes that Ty had been startled by in the basement, before. He recognises them. He just doesn’t know why.

“You didn’t tell _me_ that,” Ty says, matter-of-factly. “And you opened the door to the Institute. I saw you fall in, so you must have opened it. Only a Shadowhunter could do that.”

Kit bites back something sharp and then slams the door shut. Ty steps back quickly enough that it doesn’t hit him, flinching as the noise goes right through him. He stares at the door for a moment. There’s no click of a lock sliding into place, no footsteps away from the door. There are no tears either, no shouts or crashes or muffled sobs. Just silence, cool and unnerving.

Hesitantly, Ty puts the book down on the floor, in front of the door where it can be seen. Then he makes his way through the Institute and slips inside the kitchen, finding a tray and a bowl in the drying rack. The kitchen is empty, so it only takes a few minutes to put together soup – Ty isn’t a good chef, although he enjoys the methodical way that the recipes speak to him, the way each step has a place in a sequence. Still, you don’t need to be a good chef in order to heat soup and put some crackers on a plate, so that’s what he does. Then he carefully manoeuvres his way through the Institute until he reaches Kit’s door.

He has to put the tray down to open the door, and when he bends down to pick it up again, he hears a muffled sound of surprise from in the room, and looks up to find Kit staring at his face intently, eyes narrowed as though he’s searching for something. Probably trying to discern a reason for Ty’s presence, so Ty averts his gaze and lifts the tray. He doesn’t actually know why he’s here.

“What are you doing here?”

“I brought soup,” Ty says, rolling his eyes. “I’m always hungry after I’ve been crying, and you fought today, so you’re bound to need energy.”

Kit glares at him. “I wasn’t crying, and the only thing I need is to get the hell out of here.”

“You were,” Ty says simply, and doesn’t press the issue. “Here.”

He puts the tray down on one of the little side-tables, beside the bed, and carefully doesn’t step on the shattered remains of a vase on the floorboards nearby. The bedroom is sparsely decorated, but still elegant in a way that’s probably foreign to Kit, if the way he’s glaring at the wallpaper is any indication. Ty stands and observes his profile until Kit reluctantly reaches out to snag a cracker.

“Thanks,” he says grudgingly, and then takes a bite. Ty can see the exact moment Kit realises how hungry he is, because his eyes widen a little and he yanks the tray closer to him, spilling soup over the side. He still looks – well, he looks _something_ , but Ty can’t figure out what it is until he takes in the stiff line of his shoulders and the way his jaw is tight, and then he gets it. Kit is uncomfortable. And the only real reason for him being uncomfortable is that Ty’s in the room, which means he’s either behaving strangely or Kit simply doesn’t want him there.

“I’ll leave you alone,” Ty says, his voice surprisingly loud and hoarse in the quiet of the room.

Something flashes across Kit’s face – regret, almost, or perhaps disappointment, Ty can’t tell – and then he goes blank, wiped clean like a slate in a way that’s unnerving. This boy is a mystery, Ty thinks, a puzzle, and Ty has never yet met a puzzle that he couldn’t solve. He finds Kit intriguing, definitely, but he still doesn’t know what brought him inside this room, with soup and crackers that are steadily being devoured, so he gives a little nod, puts his earphones in, and slips quietly from the room.

The door slides shut behind him, and Ty is left alone in the corridor. He’s breathing hard, for some reason, but the music dampens everything outside of him, makes things softer and soothes his inexplicably frazzled nerves. It’s been a long day, that’s all, Ty reasons. Just a long day.

But it doesn’t explain why he sinks to the floor, opens his book and begins to read, back pressed up against the closed door with absolutely no intention of leaving.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sad chapter, and does contain spoilers for the second book, so if you haven't read it, please steer clear. Thank you for the lovely response to the first chapter, I hope you like this one just as much, and the next one will be a lot happier, I promise. Thank you! :)

The Institute is silent. Kit has grown used to the hustle and bustle of people moving about, chomping on pieces of toast and throwing knives and chatting with each other, laughing brightly or discussing recent events in quiet whispers.

Grief, however, has made the world silent.

Kit lets his head drop back against the door. In a moment he’ll pick the lock and go inside, but for the minute he just rests his head against the thick wood of the door and listens to the silence that’s swept up the Institute.

Kit knows a little bit about grief. His whole family – despite what Jace and Tessa and Jem say, they don’t _know_ – his whole family is gone, dead or never here in the first place. He thought he had found something in the Blackthorn’s, something he might be able to call family, but it seems like every time he gets close, something else comes along and rips it all away.

So, he knows a little about grief. He watched his dad die right in front of him, just as Ty lost his sister, his twin, and he knows that there’s no coming back from it. There’s simply living with it.

Sighing heavily at his own thoughts, Kit gets up and fumbles around with the lock pick he stole, pressing one hand against the handle and digging the metal into place. And then he stops and hesitantly withdraws it, because something feels different, and when he pulls down on the handle, it clicks open. A burst of joy fills Kit up, the first since he was found in that library with Magnus and told the news, and he takes a deep, quiet breath.

It could be that Ty just accidentally left the door unlocked, like he forgot, or it could be a sign, something that says _I want you here_ when Ty isn’t able to say it himself.

Kit pushes the door open and steps inside.

The first thing that hits him is the smell, like always. He’d been in Ty’s room before, back when – _back when_ , and it always smelled clean and fresh, with no hint of dust or dirt. Now the room is dark, unclean, with the distinct unwashed musk of disuse. It smells a little like Andrew’s study used to.

Ty is in the corner of the room, pressed up against a bookcase, rocking back and forth, back and forth. His hands shift like the cogs of a well-oiled machine, sifting smoothly through the air in circles. His fingers are shaking. His whole body is shaking, and he’s spitting out little gasping sounds, his chest heaving with the weight of loss, and Kit creeps closer.

It’s been one week of this, one week of letting himself into Ty’s room and stopping just in front of him, settling down just within reach, but not touching, never touching. Kit knows it’s not welcome. He asked, the first time, he Ty wanted him to hold him like he did before, outside, but all Ty did was shake his head desperately, and Kit knew it wasn’t his arms that Ty wanted to feel wrapped around him. So, now they usually sit in silence, and sometimes Ty is still and quiet, unmoving, and sometimes he’s like this, and sometimes he’s crying, quietly, his gaze lost as he clutches one of Livvy’s cardigans between his fingers, which are always, always shaking.

Livvy.

That’s the word that nobody will say.

Kit thinks of a bright, vivid girl and closes his eyes. It seems strange, to reduce Livvy to something as quiet and distant as a ghost, when she was such a forceful presence in real life. He remembers their kiss, her laughter, their inside jokes and the serious moments they shared, and he sighs deeply, a tight ball of grief unravelling in the centre of his chest. He didn’t know her for very long, but she was one of the closest friends he’s ever had, and it just doesn’t seem possible that everything they could have had is now _gone_.

When he opens his eyes, Ty is staring right at him, eyes burning fiercely with tears.

“Ty,” Kit says softly. “Tiberius. What do you need? What can I do?”

Ty shakes his head and looks away again. He’s shaking all over, cold and grieving, and Kit wants desperately to help, but he can’t. The only thing he can do is offer comfort, and Ty doesn’t want it. Kit is under no illusions – he doesn’t think Ty has let anyone at all into this room, and if his own family can’t help him through this time, then Kit certainly doesn’t think that he’ll be any more well-received.

But Ty left the door unlocked.

There are books strewn carelessly on the floor nearby, a sure sign of Ty’s mindset right now. Kit picks one up and starts to leaf through it, settling down on the floor near Ty, with his back against the bookcase, the door closed behind him. There’s very little light in the room, but Kit can still pick out the words on the page if he squints.

He clears his throat a little self-consciously, opens his mouth and starts to read.

_“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.”_

He was never particularly fond of reading aloud in class, but he does so now with practiced ease. He keeps reading until Ty grows still, and when he glances over at the end of the first chapter, he sees that Ty has fallen asleep, head propped up against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest. It’s almost like he’s hugging himself, and Kit wants briefly to snatch him up and hold him. He flicks the thought away and climbs to his feet. He can’t lift Ty, not without stumbling or waking him or dropping him, none of which are appealing thoughts, so he does the next best thing and gathers pillows and blankets from Ty’s unmade bed and carefully wraps them around him, easing a pillow between Ty’s head and the wall.

Then he stands and looks at him for a little while. He looks smaller like this, wrapped in a thick white blanket, his straight hair falling across his face, which is relaxed in sleep. There are tired little lines at the corners of his eyes and dark circles beneath them, but otherwise he simply looks younger, less troubled.

Sighing, Kit goes around the room and picks up the empty dishes scattered around the room, and takes them down to the kitchen. Ty must have been sneaking out when the rest of them were busy to get drinks and food – either that or someone is leaving it for him outside the door. Kit will put money on Julian, who’s probably desperate to see his brother.

He makes the trip back up to Ty’s room and finds him still fast asleep, in the same position in the corner. He starts tidying up as quietly as possible, folding clothes haphazardly and putting them in piles beside the wardrobe, placing the books back on the bookcase with reverent care, rearranging the rug and decluttering the desk. It gives his restless hands something to do and makes him feel a little bit like he’s helping, like Ty will feel better with a clean, tidy room. When he can’t do much more without waking Ty up, he tucks the blanket a little tighter around him. He hesitates – he’s tempted, so very tempted, to brush a kiss on Ty’s forehead, but he can’t. Ty didn’t give him permission, and besides, even the thought brings a blush to his cheeks that has him spinning on his heel and marching out of the room.

The door clicks shut quietly behind him, and Kit blows out an exhausted breath and sinks to the floor. There are footsteps echoing down the hallway, and his hand jumps to the knife hidden in his boot, strapped to his ankle, but before he can draw it, Emma rounds the corridor. She looks as exhausted as he feels, and she’s clearly been crying recently. There’s none of the usual fierceness in her expression, and Kit wonders if she feels as lost as she looks.

She does a double-take when she sees Kit, and her eyes flick from him to the door, face spasming with grief.

“He’s sleeping,” Kit assures her.

“He could be in there, upset, for all we know. You can’t know that he’s asleep.”

“I can, actually.”

Emma jerks back suddenly. “You’ve _seen_ him?”

Kit nods tiredly. “Yeah, every night. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

Emma’s expression darkens. “I don’t think any of us are okay, but Ty… you’ve actually _seen_ him.”

“I usually pick the lock,” Kit admits, “but tonight I didn’t have to. He left the door open for me.”

Emma looks thoughtful for a second, before she nods, slow, like she’s considering something. “I’ll tell Julian. He’ll want to know that Ty’s okay, since Ty won’t let anyone in, and Julian wants to give him space, doesn’t want to set him off. He’s grieving too, and he doesn’t know what to do.”

Kit can’t hide his scowl at that, but Emma is so deep in thought that she doesn’t notice. Ty isn’t a firework or a minefield, he’s not going to explode at the slightest wrong move. Sure, he needs consideration, but so does everyone. It frustrates him, how unknowledgeable the Shadowhunters are about things like this, and how unwilling they are to learn.

“I don’t think he needs any space,” Kit admits. “I think he’s had enough space. He needs comfort now. Maybe tell Julian that.”

There’s no accusation in his tone, but Emma still regards him sharply. Kit doesn’t back down from the stare. He doesn’t know what Ty needs, not exactly, but he knows it’s not this cold isolation, stuck in his room with only Livvy’s ghost for company and his own painful thoughts. Emma doesn’t back down either, but she does nod eventually.

“I’ll walk back with you to your room, if you like,” she offers.

Kit shakes his head. “I’m going to stay here again, in case he needs me.”

This time, when Emma stares at him, it’s with a hint of a smile.

                                                                       

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! Please let me know what you thought, either with a comment or a kudos, or come and say hello on tumblr @thealmostrhetoricalquestion :) I'd love to hear from you! Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I look like a powdered donut," Kit grumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Wow, it's been a little while. I promised this would be a happier chapter, so it takes place about a year after the last one and it's a little bit more cheerful. Thank you for the lovely response to the last chapter, I hope you enjoy this one just as much. Thank you!

Ty leans back against the wall, facing Kit’s door. He’s been flicking through his music for the past ten minutes, waiting with increasing boredom as Kit changes in the bedroom. Dru keeps giving him odd, fond looks as she passes by, carrying weapons that need polishing from one room to another, and Ty doesn’t really _need_ to explain why he’s outside, waiting for Kit, but the urge to do so rises every time she looks at him strangely. It’s like he needs to defend himself, somehow, when in truth he knows he’s not doing anything wrong, or suspicious. 

Ty tends to do a lot of things that involve Kit that lead to people giving him the side-eye. Most of his family give him strange looks when he’s around Kit. Strange, _knowing_ looks that he doesn’t understand. 

Livvy would have been the worst about it, he thinks, with a sharp ache in his chest. For a second, he has to lean back and catch his breath. Sometimes it’s like waking up in that council hall, _realising_ , and the rug gets pulled out beneath him again. Sometimes he gets lost for hours, thinking about Livvy. Losing her was like losing something intrinsic to him, like his blood or his nerves or the breath in his lungs. Things he needs to live. For a while, he didn’t think he could do it. 

Now, he knows better, but sometimes he still _feels_ it, this bone-deep certainty that living isn’t really living without Livvy. 

The door slides open, and Ty glances up. He goes oddly still, a response without a true stimulus, something he can’t control. 

Kit spreads his arms and says, with a deadpan stare, “How do I look? Am I the man of your dreams?” 

“You’re often in my dreams,” Ty says, because he values honesty, and Kit does this weird seizing thing, where his whole body spasms and he chokes on his tongue. Ty regards him strangely, and then goes on to say, “Last night I dreamt you were petting a duck, and it turned into a swan and started attacking you. Emma thinks it’s a sure sign that I’ve been hanging around you too much lately.” 

Kit seems to calm down, although his cheeks still burn red. “What do you think?” 

“I think I had too much sugar before bed,” Ty says. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of hanging around you.” 

“About the suit,” Kit says, a little desperately. “What do you think of the _suit_?” 

“Oh.” Ty takes a moment to look Kit up and down, long and slow. It’s a plain black suit, with a white shirt and a deep red tie. Kit fidgets impatiently, his fingers tapping against his sides, and Ty watches him for a moment longer, before lifting one shoulder in a delicate shrug. “You look uncomfortable.”

Kit blinks at him for a moment before rolling his eyes and walking back into his room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. Ty looks back down at his music, his mouth twitching as he catches snippets of cursing and fumbling around behind the door in between songs. Eventually he settles on the theme music for Sherlock, the television programme that Kit introduced him to a few weeks ago. The music is loud and repetitive, but he turns it down a little and lets himself relax into it, the sound washing through him. 

He likes the show, although he would need several hands to be able to count all the flaws he can find in the plots and the character building. What he likes even more is watching it with Kit, curled up on either ends of the couch in the den, the lights dimmed and their ankles not quite grazing each other. Last week, Kit had put his arm around the back of the couch and played with Ty’s hair absent-mindedly, and Ty can feel his cheeks heat up as he thinks back to the way his heart had stuttered in his chest. He thinks about the disappointment he felt when Kit realised what he was doing and swore, hurrying to the other end of the couch, both of them blushing like mad. 

He’s still pink-cheeked when Kit comes back out of the room, looking rather bedraggled. This time he does a little twirl for Ty’s benefit, and Ty frowns at him. This suit is a little better, with a black shirt and trousers that fit better, emphasising the shape of his legs. His jacket is a charcoal colour, and he’s filled out a little more over the past year, so it’s snug around his shoulders, but not too snug. There’s no tie, and the top button is undone, emphasising the slender column of his neck, and Ty looks away quickly, fixing his eyes on the wall. 

“Better?” 

“Definitely,” Ty murmurs. “How many more are there?”

“Three,” he says dismally. “The next one is ridiculous. I’m convinced someone put it in the pile because they have a grudge against Herondale’s. I refuse to try it on.”

“I want to see it, though. I’m curious.”

Kit groans, dropping his head forward, and then he sighs, nods, and backs into the room again. The door clicks shut, and Ty contemplates the ease of his surrender with no small amount of curiosity. 

“It’s because he likes you,” Dru says, as she strides down the hall with an armful of knives. “He caves easily because he likes you, a lot. For someone so observant, you sure do miss a lot when it comes to yourself.”

Ty can’t tell if she’s making fun of him or not, but he glowers at her back regardless. 

“I haven’t missed it,” he mutters, because he hasn’t. He’s not stupid. He knows himself better than anyone else ever will, better even than – than Livvy did, although she liked to joke that she had his heart in her body, and he had her brain in his. He knows everything about himself. He knows the way his head turns when Kit enters the room, the swooping feeling in his stomach – even if he can’t put a name to it – when Kit comes near, the way his breath catches when he catches Kit smiling, laughing. He knows himself, and he knows what he feels, and he knows it isn’t going away. 

He’s just not ready. Not yet. 

The pain of losing Livvy is too fresh, too deep. It’s a cut that won’t ever heal, but Ty wants it to bleed a little less before he starts truly living again. He thinks that’s what being with Kit would feel like – being _alive_. He’s just not ready yet. It's only been a year. He needs more time to grieve. 

He’s content with this, content with the stolen glances and the shared moments and their hands brushing against each other, content with the way they gravitate towards each other, like planets circling one another. He’s not happy, but he’s content, and that will have to do for now. 

“Do _not_ laugh.”

Ty looks up, and freezes. His face remains calm and clear, but a wheeze works its way out of his throat as he tries to hold back a burst of laughter. He catches Kit’s eye for a split second before he has to look away, and he can see the abject misery and disgust in his eyes. 

The suit is a pale lavender colour and too big around the sleeves. The shirt is powder-blue, and the tie is bright yellow, the colour of a baby chick. 

“I look like a powdered donut,” Kit grumbles. “I look like springtime threw up on me. I look like something the Easter Bunny would paint on a goddamn egg.” 

Ty collapses back against the wall in silent laughter, hands fluttering up to cover his face while he laughs and laughs. Kit continues to grumble, his voice carrying throughout the halls, but when Ty peeks through his fingers, still shaking, he finds a small grin on the corner of Kit’s mouth. 

Yeah, he thinks. Maybe he’s not ready quite yet, but he will be. One day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'll edit this in the morning for mistakes, please don't comment just to tell me if I've made one, but otherwise I'd love to hear from you!! And you can come say hey @thealmostrhetoricalquestion on tumblr if you wanna talk about Kitty. Thank you so much!

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think? Come and cry with me about Lord of Shadows on tumblr if you like, @thealmostrhetoricalquestion. Thank you so much!


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